


Buds in Suds

by jscribbles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blowjobs, Canon, M/M, Rimming, cas is a thirsty human, dean fucks cas on the impala, dean is a thirsty man, improper use of car washing soap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-22 13:30:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22250254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jscribbles/pseuds/jscribbles
Summary: Falling from grace and becoming human came with a variety of pros and cons. Pros? Boners. Cons? Also boners.Pros? Dean Winchester liked to wash his car in small shorts and very translucent t-shirts, and he liked it when Castiel 'helped'. Cons? Dean Winchester liked to wash his car in small shorts and very translucent t-shirts, and he liked it when Castiel 'helped'.That bastard.Castiel would much rather be 'helping' himself under the hot spray of the bunker showers, thinking about Dean in his tiny shorts and wet t-shirt, but no, Dean needs 'help'.That. Bastard.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 38
Kudos: 402
Collections: The Pizzaman: A Destiel Anthology





	Buds in Suds

**Author's Note:**

> Sup? Behold my submission to The Pizza Man, a printed anthology of porny Destiel tales told by some of this fandom's finest. Thanks very much to FoxyMoley for putting the book together and letting me be part of such a fun, lovely project. 
> 
> Please check out the rest of the authors' stories as well! You'll find them in the collection this fic is part of. :)
> 
> Also THANK YOU to Foxy for the header art. It's so beautiful. <3
> 
> AND THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR Sarasaurussex's gift art they made for this fic. I've linked to the tumblr post below and embedded the art in the body of this fic.

It was, quite frankly, obscene.

It was, in all honesty, quite rude and unfair. 

It was, entirely and inescapably, the most arousing thing Castiel had ever seen in his mortal life. Or his immortal one, at that.

The discovery of the bunker’s garage had seemed like an innocent enough event. Dean had been ecstatic about a space to keep his Impala, and even Sam—who normally couldn't care less about cars—seemed intrigued by the selection of vintage vehicles hidden in this alcove. 

Castiel, who they’d taken in from the streets, now human, hadn’t been interested in it nearly as much, considering it was just a room that held a few tons of old metal and tires configured into working transportation. He used to have wings and a body that was aerodynamic in its true form; cars seemed boring and constraining as far as travel went. As decoration, they seemed even more uninteresting. Castiel found books and ancient runes far more interesting, if aesthetics were anything to go by.

However, as their days in the bunker went on and Dean’s interest in this room only grew, Castiel found himself more and more interested in cars. When Dean took to washing each car—lathering it in soap with a thick sponge, water dripping off the sides of each shining metal body—Castiel found he was suddenly very, very interested in cars.

Rather, he became very, very interested in Dean _washing_ cars. Soapy, wet, dripping.

And how unfair, and obscene, and frankly, quite rude was it that Dean washed those blasted cars in a white t-shirt and small jean shorts? And in those ruddy, blasted worn boots that had loose shoe-strings and a tongue that flapped around as he bent over the roof, his arms flexing as he rubbed circles over shining black metal? 

Castiel had only been human for a week. He wasn’t yet equipped with the emotional strength to fight down arousal of this magnitude.

How _dare_ Dean ask him for “a hand”?

Castiel was the one who needed a hand, for fuck’s sake.

Did Dean really _need_ his help? Castiel’s one job was to make sure the water was changed so that “dirt doesn’t scratch at the paint, these cars are delicate”. 

Castiel’s penis was delicate, that’s what. He spent half the time turned away from Dean, pouring perfectly good water and soap into the sink, only to replace it so that he could try and regain some semblance of dignity in that brief moment to himself. If Dean turned around, he’d surely catch Castiel standing there, watching a rogue mound of soap drag down Dean’s leg and leave a shimmering wet trail over muscled thigh. Dean would notice the effect that blasted wad of soap was creating in the front of Castiel’s pants.

“...Hello? Earth to Castiel?”

Oh, very funny. As if Castiel was ever going to escape Earth.

Castiel blinked, pulling himself away from his very in-depth inspection of the crevice of Dean’s ass where his shorts rode up. Obviously, Dean didn’t mean to show such skin—he’d been leaning over the top of the Impala, nearly lying on top of her. Castiel suspected Dean could have just walked around to the other side to clean that spot, but he also suspected Dean enjoyed being so physically close to his car. 

Castiel found himself being very jealous of the Impala for a moment. 

“What?” Castiel asked grumpily, his fingers straining around the handle of the bucket he was holding in front of his crotch.

Dean stood up straight, his shorts riding back down, hiding the curved shadow Castiel had been admiring lovingly. Dean scowled down at him from atop his stool, waving at him vaguely with a soapy sponge.

“You gonna bring that over here so I can use the soap, or you just gonna stand there and look pretty?” 

“I…”

Dean rolled his eyes and jumped down from the stool, sauntering—no, walking—over to him and stopping in front of Castiel, close enough that their toes bumped. The edge of the bucket bumped into the bulging front of Dean’s shorts.

Dean smirked suddenly and reached forward, gripping the bucket handle with his wet fingers. They brushed Castiel’s and it made him snatch his hand back.

With a snort, Dean said, “Chill, dude. I don’t bite.” He paused as he stepped away and turned to move back towards the car. “Not hard, at least.”

How _dare_ he?

Dean walked back towards the car, and Castiel found himself mumbling choice words under his breath, watching Dean’s ass cheeks move up and down in turn as he walked, the strings from the rip in his jeans swaying against his thighs. 

“I...should go.” 

Dean went back to rubbing broad circles over the Impala’s top. Soap slid down her windshield. Dean glanced at him over his flexing shoulder.

“And do what? Sam’s out and I could use a hand.”

Castiel didn’t have a spare hand to lend. He’d been hoping to escape to the hot spray of the bunker showers so he could use the two he had to relieve himself, one rubbing at his yearning hole, the other sliding over his straining cock. He had every intention of using the soap there to spread over his nipples and massage over his testicles as he imagined this car wash pornography he was being forced to witness.

“I should be using my free time finding a way to put the angels back in Heaven, Dean,” Castiel replied, sliding his hands into the pockets of his maroon hoodie.

Dean laughed, hopping back off his stool to dip his sponge in the water and wring it out. He grinned up at Castiel, wincing a bit as water splashed up at him, dotting his shirt and jaw. “Come on, man. You got nothin’ but free time now, and besides—it’s Sunday. Lord’s day and all that. The angels are busy answering prayers and polishing their halos.”

Castiel would very much prefer to be polishing his halo in private, too, but he sighed and nodded, approaching the car like it was going to bite him.

Before he could prepare himself, Dean threw the sponge at him, getting him square in the chest. Castiel made a noise in his throat of surprise and held the sponge away from the front of his now sopping wet hoodie. “Hey!”

“Hay is for horses,” Dean replied, snorting, his face left smirking a bit as he celebrated his terrible joke. He gestured at the hood of the car. “Get soapin’. And take off that hoodie. First of all, I don’t need that zipper scratching my baby, and two, you’ll get it soaked. Well, more soaked than it already is.”

As Castiel shrugged off his hoodie, he remarked, “If I recall correctly, it was perfectly dry before your assault via sponge.”

Dean winked— _how dare he_? “Ah, right. What a shame.”

And then Castiel saw it, the slow, lewd stare from Dean that lingered on the front of Castiel’s green t-shirt, the dragging glance over the spotted bits of wetness that had seeped through the hoodie.

“What a shame,” Dean muttered again, going back to his soaping—did the car really require that much soap? It was sliding over Dean’s hands and forearms in a way that was, frankly, pornogaphic. 

Castiel got to work, eager to have an excuse to press the front of his jeans against the Impala, to hide his arousal from Dean. He leaned over the hood and began rubbing the bubbly sponge over the sleek black metal. He wasn’t sure what he was cleaning—she seemed immaculate—but he did as he was told and glanced up at Dean to mimic his movements.

“Easy there, tiger,” Dean said, glancing over at Castiel, his teeth peeking through his parted lips as he fought a grin. “Rub a little gentler, you don’t wanna scratch her.”

“Like this?”

“Mhmn. And dip that sponge, wouldja?” Dean stood on his stool, pausing his ministrations. He stood tall, his sponge clenched in his hand. ”No one likes a dry rub.”

Castiel felt his cock swell in his pants. He wouldn’t mind any kind of rub at this point. 

All he did was scowl down at the sponge and try to avoid the fact that Dean’s white t-shirt was soaked through from leaning on top of the car, and his nipples were hard and dusty brown through his shirt. Every crevice of abs and the wispy trail of golden brown hair leading down into the waist of Dean’s jean shorts were visible through the soapy, sopping shirt.

“Bring the bucket down,” Castiel grunted, purposefully continuing to lean over the hood, pretending to scrub at a spot that wasn’t there. He couldn’t stand up straight because his jeans were unforgiving and he was so hard that his brain lacked enough blood to come up with a good excuse for not being able to move.

“Demanding,” Dean mocked, but he jumped down and walked over to Castiel, holding the bucket out to him. With one brow raised and a smarmy smirk on his lips, Dean murmured, “Soak it up, baby.”

He was sure Dean was saying _something_ but all Castiel was thinking was about how Dean was holding the heavy bucket right below his groin, just in the perfect position for—

Castiel turned towards him, reached down into the bucket with his sponge and dipped it in, trying with everything that he was to ignore the fact that his two hands were inches from Dean’s—

Ignoring the fact that Dean’s forearms strained to hold the bucket up and that the bulge in his jeans shorts was pressed against the rim of the bucket, Castiel pulled his hands back out of the water again. The bubbly liquid sloshed around his wrists, soap sliding down his hands. Castiel wrung out the sponge a few inches above the water, white foam oozing from the end of it, dripping off and gathering between Castiel’s fingers. Inches from his face, he could feel Dean watching, his breath against his ear.

“Little more,” Dean murmured. “A little harder.”

Castiel squeezed the sponge again, subconsciously rubbing his thumb over the end to collect milky white, soapy water. He thought, maybe, he heard Dean groan.

No, that couldn’t be it.

He made to move away, disturbed by the caliber of his erotic imaginings and entirely distracted by how he’d been so close to Dean that Dean now had soap from the wrung sponge on the zipper of his jeans. But, before he could move back, Dean tittered and shook his head.

“Come on, dude. Dip that back in there. Lose the death grip; we want some slip there or she’ll never get clean.”

That’s when Castiel realized what was happening. He stood up straight and narrowed his eyes at Dean. “What exactly is your objective here, Dean? Is it to get clean...or get dirty?”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up so far that they nearly grazed his hairline. “Excuse me?”

Oh. 

Castiel lost his nerve. Perhaps he’d misread the situation. Perhaps he shouldn’t have watched all that pizza man pornography. He’d thought it would help him relieve the burning need inside him that he kept waking up to since he’d gone mortal, but it seemed that the pornography was rotting his brain and making him wrongly see erotic situations in reality.

“Nothing,” Castiel murmured, turning away, moving back towards Baby. 

Dean’s boots splashed over the wet cement floor as he walked away. The farther away Dean got, the more Castiel felt the air return to the room. But something shifted between them. 

Castiel finished wiping at the soapy water on the hood, pulling suds away towards the floor, and moved towards the roof. Meanwhile, Dean had walked across the room and was unravelling a green rubber hose. Castiel climbed up onto the stool that Dean had abandoned, listening to the squeaking of the hose unravelling and then the rush of water thrumming through it to the nozzle.

 _Focus_ , Castiel thought to himself, but it was becoming difficult to pay attention to his task when Dean had taken up Castiel’s abandoned post at the front of the Impala. From the corner of his eye, he watched water pour from the end of the hose, the stream of water thick, dumping down onto her hood and leaving the metal shiny. 

Dean didn’t have to hold it between his legs like that, though. And he didn’t have to keep massaging the hose as if it was helping the water pump out.

“Cut that out,” Castiel ground out, pushing the growl through his teeth. He fixed his eyes on his task.

Green eyes, dark under thick, brown lashes, turned up towards him and Dean said, “Dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Dean, I’m serious.”

“Is my hose upsetting you?”

“Stop.”

Dean was massaging the hose, thumb dragging up the underside and giving it a little shake like that would help the water pour out faster. Ignorant to many human things as he may be, Castiel was entirely aware of the fact that hoses didn’t need to be massaged in order to function.

Castiel, on the other hand, perhaps did require a good massage by that hand in order to function.

It was, of course, at that moment he realized that Dean was not merely pretending to flirt to be funny or because he was bored—he was _actually_ flirting, and he was _seducing_ Castiel purposefully. When Castiel looked up slowly from the hose between Dean’s legs, Dean was already watching him, a mischievous grin on his face. His lip was curled in a bit, pulled in by teeth and a pink tongue that swiped out to wet his lips. 

“Okay,” Dean admitted. “You were right earlier… I am trying to get dirty.”

The admission was so blunt that Castiel felt momentarily unable to control his face. His mouth dropped open and he asked, “What are you saying?”

Dean let the hose slide from his hand. The metal nozzle clicked against the ground and water pumped out lazily onto the floor, pouring towards the drain. Dean walked around the car towards Castiel slowly, his smile remaining, although his eyes were nervous. Castiel saw that his hands were wet from the hose, and his clothing was soapy and translucent from leaning over the slick car.

Castiel saw the clear, protruding outline of an erection: hard, long, thick. Just like he remembered from their ascent from Hell, just like he remembered building him. It was framed perfectly by the seams of these shorts, tucked to the left, lengthy enough to _almost_ poke out from the bottom of the shorts.

“Shut me up if I’m being, uh, ‘forward’,” Dean said, and Castiel noted a hint of hesitation. “But Sam’s not home and...there’s something here between us, right? Not, like, just now, but...always. Right?”

Castiel’s erection twinged and his heart fluttered a bit, competing for the rush of blood; Castiel wasn’t sure which won.

“Yes,” he breathed, feeling robbed of oxygen. Dean was close now, barely a foot away. He was standing before Castiel, emotionally bare and with his rock-hard cock only inches away from Castiel’s own swelling erection.

“Thought so,” Dean murmured and he reached up, brushing the back of his finger over the cleft in Castiel’s chin. 

“You’re standing very close,” Castiel whispered.

Dean leaned in, head tilted a bit, his lips mere inches away from Castiel’s, his warm breath puffing over Castiel’s lips. Dean’s green eyes searched Castiel’s face, then his mouth twitched back into a smirk. 

“So are you,” Dean replied. “But I guess we’re just standing as close now as we’ve always wanted to before, huh?”

“Because Sam’s not home,” Castiel repeated weakly, his voice a rumble as a lump settled in his throat. Most of the blood in his body continued to engorge his cock, making it hard to think. _Touch me, touch me..._

“Because,” Dean murmured purposefully, closing the last few inches, his mouth moving slowly, the skin of their lips brushing _just so_ , “you’re human now, and that puts us on an even playing field. We feel what we felt before, but now...we’re made the same: flesh and blood. You want what I want; I can tell.”

Dean’s hand came forward and he cupped the bulge in Castiel’s pants, squeezing gently, his palm pressed against it firmly.

“I can tell,” Dean repeated. “I can see what you’ve been trying to hide this whole time.”

Castiel’s heart was in his throat. He didn’t dare move, frightened that the moment would end if he did. In a whisper, he asked, “So you’re not angry?”

Dean was silent. The clock on the wall above a tool cabinet beside them ticked loudly. 

“No, I’m not angry. Can I be clear, Cas? ‘Cause this is gonna suck if I’m wrong. Are you attracted to me?”

Castiel swallowed his heart in his throat so he could speak, and he rasped, “Yes.”

“Can we just be two adults here and get what we want?” Dean asked. “You know...like…”

“Yes,” Castiel breathed, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. He felt simultaneously like this was right and that he was doing something wrong…Sinful.

Dean’s gentle finger on his chin tilted his head and Castiel’s eyes involuntarily fluttered closed as Dean placed gentle pecks down his jaw and neck. Dean’s lips lingered on the spot under his ear that Castiel had learned to brush with his nails as he masturbated in the shower. 

The water running distracted Castiel, pulling him away from the hand kneading his balls and the teeth dragging down his neck. It was nearly everything he’d imagined, but sudden nerves got the better of him. Could he really do this? He’d been human for a drop in the bucket of time; he didn’t have the experience Dean had. Could he really go through with this?

“We should turn the water off. We should...stop.” Castiel slid away from Dean, ducking out from under Dean’s hands. “The Impala is half-covered in soap, Dean. We should finish here before—” 

Dean blinked his eyes open and raised his hands to his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. He looked perplexed. Turning to follow Castiel around the car, Dean asked, “Turn off the water? Why? Dude, that can wait—”

“I won’t be any good,” Castiel burst out, the words pouring from his lips before he could help it. He’d bent down to pick up the hose and turned with it, the water spitting pitifully from the end as the hose bent sharply and cut off. Castiel stood in front of the Impala, squeezing his fingers around the hose and feeling his face burn up.

Dean’s face screwed up. “What are you talking about?”

“April was a reaper when I had sex with her, presumably. She said I was good but she’d been a liar the entire time, hadn’t she? Being with you… It has been the forefront of every fantasy I’ve ever had, Dean. If I do this now,” Castiel admitted, “I may do it wrong. I don’t wish to disappoint you.”

“April was a bitch for what she did to you, man,” Dean agreed. “But it doesn’t compare.”

Castiel shrugged, feeling anger creep up from his stomach. “I had sex with her on a bed, where humans usually have sex, and _still_ probably did it wrong. Forget about having any success in a _garage_. I hardly know where to start. I’m...unsure what…what to _do._ ”

Dean’s shoulders relaxed, and his features softened, confusion melting into amusement. He walked up to Castiel slowly and reached forward, coaxing the hose from his hand. He raised it and gestured to Castiel with it.

“First of all,” he said, raising his brows, “sex on a bed is overrated. Second of all, I ain’t too familiar with fuckin’ dudes in my garage, either, but you’re not just some dude. You and me? We ain’t regular people. If we wanna have sex in this garage, we can do it. We can do it however the hell we want.”

Feeling lost and a bit frustrated, Castiel gestured around. “Where? How? Pornography tells me we should be having sex on a bed, or on a chaise overlooking the California valley. I don’t have any of those things. I don’t know how to give you what you want. I don’t know how to be…” Castiel rolled the word around in his mouth for second, then murmured, “...hot.”

Dean stared at Castiel for a long time. Almost too long, and Castiel was tempted to tell him to “knock it off”, as Dean had so many times done to him. But then, after a long few moments, Dean’s eyes flashed a bit and he raised the hose.

...Dean tipped his head back and poured water down over himself, eyes shut against the stream as it hit him in the face and poured over his skin, dribbling down his neck and shoulders. Water slid into his t-shirt and splashed onto the skin of his arms. It was, quite frankly, magnificent. When Dean tipped his head back down, his face was soaked, lashes clumped together, and he raised a hand, dragging it through his wet hair. 

His nipples were hard and taunt, a dusty brown through his translucent, skin-tight, sopping shirt that clung to his chest and stomach.

Before Castiel could ask what he was doing, Dean stepped forward and threw aside the hose. He bent at the knee, ducked down, and threw one arm under Castiel’s ass, the other going around his waist. A small, uncivilized yelp escaped past the lump in Castiel’s throat, and he clung onto Dean with his hands on his shoulders and legs around his hips as he was lifted off his feet.

“Dean, what—”

There was no point in asking the question, because he was only carried for a moment before Dean leaned him up against the front of the Impala, placed one hand on his chest, and shoved him back until Castiel’s back thumped down onto the car. His back was instantly soaked through with water that was still fresh and sleek on the Impala’s hood. Water seeped in his hair and cooled his neck. It dampened the seat of his jeans and the skin of his exposed lower back that created a creaking sound as he was pushed up the hood a bit by Dean shoving himself between his legs.

“You don’t gotta _know_ how to be hot,” Dean growled, his voice gravelly and low, his eyes dragging down Castiel’s body, lain down on the hood of the car. Dean leaned to the side, ducking away for a moment, pinning Castiel to the car with his thighs and pelvis, pressed tightly between Castiel’s legs. 

His chest heaving now, breath punching from him with excitement and nerves, Castiel lay there and listened to water sloshing and then dripping heavily like a rainfall.

When Dean stood back up again, he had a sponge in his hand, fingers shining with soap. In a smooth movement, Dean peeled Castiel’s wet shirt away from his chest and pushed it up, balled in his hand and slid up under Casiel’s chin. With dark eyes and a glitter of mischief, Dean raised the sponge above them and squeezed. Soap and water poured from the sponge, splashing over Castiel’s bare chest and stomach.

“Fuck,” Dean moaned. “You don’t gotta know, Cas. You just _are._ Look at you, all laid out and fuckin _hot._ I...” Dean seemed to visibly swallow as he reached forward and slid his hand up Castiel’s now sleek and wet abs, soap gathering between his fingers. “I’m gonna ask you one more time, and this time, I’m gonna be clear.”

Dean’s hands traveled across Castiel’s chest, rubbing slippery circles, the tips of his fingers brushing a nipple. Castiel moaned; it was small, and it was quiet, reverberating in his chest, but it was enough to make Dean look undone.

“You wanna get fucked on the hood of this car by me, or not?”

“What do I do?” Castiel asked with a gulp of air, his nipples tingling and sending waves of sharp, shooting pleasure down to the tip of his dick.

Dean ran the sponge up his stomach, his eyes never leaving the soapy, sudsy trail it left over Castiel’s tanned, freckled skin. “You spread your legs,” Dean rumbled, leaning forward over Castiel’s body, their cocks pressing firmly together, “and you beg for it when you want it harder, or faster, or if you want me to come on you. Anywhere you want.”

“I can do that,” Castiel replied, nodding, “if you promise to do one thing.”

Dean’s hands—sponge abandoned, sliding down the hood of the car towards the front bumper—slid down Cas’ thighs and hooked under his knees, lifting them up around his waist. He was leaning down, smirking, waiting.

“Anything you want,” Dean conceded. “Shoot.”

“ _Stop dallying_ ,” Castiel commanded, feeling a rush of confidence now that he knew there was no pressure, now that he knew all it took to enrapture Dean was to lay back and let him rub soap into his skin. “I’ve wanted you for years, and since becoming human, the desire has only grown more desperate. Dean, _fuck_ me.”

Those were, apparently, magic words to an aroused human, because Dean seemed to snap, letting go of all restraint and propriety. His teeth bared and he reached forward, roughly grasping Castiel by the jaw with one hand as he finally kissed him. It was tongue and lips and spit (or was it soap?) right away. Dean was rough, but Castiel was enamoured with him and entirely reciprocating. He opened his mouth to accept Dean’s passion and he swiped out his tongue as Dean’s brushed his into his mouth, tasting, teasing, testing the waters.

They moaned and growled against each other. Dean’s lower back curled as he rubbed the front of his shorts against the front of Castiel’s jeans, and in response, Castiel’s back arched up, wanting any space between them closed. He no longer needed the guidance of Dean’s hands; his legs curled up and around Dean’s waist naturally. Their soapy, slick stomachs slid against each other. 

Without opening their eyes or breaking their kiss for too long, Dean’s shirt was up and off and landed with a splat on the cement, splashing in the puddle made by the still-running hose. Castiel reached down with shaking hands to begin to undo his own jeans, but Dean grabbed his wrists and pulled them apart, thumping them down onto the car hood.

“Let me,” Dean said. “I...I’ve wanted to undress you for years. It’s kinda a fantasy I’ve got.”

As Dean’s hands undid the buttons of Castiel’s pants and tugged down the zipper, Castiel’s head fell back onto the Impala and he rasped, “Is having sex with me on your Impala another fantasy?” 

It certainly would explain why they weren’t doing this on a bed.

With a flex of his shoulders and biceps, Dean jerked Castiel’s jeans off, revealing white underwear, and freeing his aching cock. A long, slow breath streamed out from between Dean’s lips, and his eyes darkened as he stared down at the strained tent in the briefs. Doubts about whether or not Dean thought Castiel was hot slowly dissolved as Dean raised a hand and ran it through his own hair, shaking his head.

“This is really happening, isn’t it?” Dean said, staring at their cocks. “I thought I’d flirt a bit, and gauge your interest by tryna be sexy and stuff…And it’s really happening now. Holy shit.”

The silence was thick and tension-filled, but it wasn’t bad. As a matter of fact, the surprised, highly aroused, almost weak expression on Dean’s face was endlessly _hot_. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Castiel murmured, his voice hoarse. He tilted his head. 

Dean’s eyes lifted from their slotted crotches and he grinned weakly. “Yeah. In my fantasies, you’ve been on your back on the hood of my car too many times. Does that freak you out?”

Castiel took a moment to ponder this, and then recalled the endless amounts of times he’d imagined Dean bending him over the map table in the war room whilst he pumped his cock under the spray of the bunker shower, and replied, “No, it doesn’t ‘freak me out’. What…” Castiel licked his lips. “What else takes place in your fantasies? Will you tell me?”

Dean blinked, and his cheeks burned red alarmingly quickly. Then, “How about I show you instead?”

The nod Castiel gave him in return barely finished before Dean leaned down and shimmied Castiel’s jeans down his thighs, leaving them around his knees as he reached up and did the same with his briefs. Before Castiel had a chance to ask what he was supposed to do next, Dean dropped down onto his knees and grasped Castiel’s hips, his eyes watching the swollen, bobbing erection before him. 

After pushing himself up onto his elbows and staring down at Dean kneeling before his legs, Castiel noted that Dean’s hands were shaking, despite his experience and overall bravado until this moment. But with a look of determination, Dean grasped the cock in his hands and leaned forward, taking the tip into his mouth cautiously. If Castiel didn’t know any better, he’d think Dean’d never done _this_ particular thing before.

The hot, steaming heat of Dean’s mouth around the tip, and his slick, slippery tongue dragging over the underside of Castiel’s cock had him moaning. The last thing he saw before his eyes rolled back and closed was the look of inspiration behind Dean’s eyes and the flare of excitement. He’d clearly not done this before—at least not in his real life, not anywhere outside of the space he’d created for them both in his fantasies. But experience—or lack of it—be damned, Dean’s mouth felt perfect and Castiel tipped his head back, gasping from the sensation.

The sound alone must have inspired enough courage, because Dean twisted his head a bit and pulled Cas’ cock deeper into his mouth, sucking and humming. One hand pumped at the base, while the other kneaded and massaged Castiel’s balls, rolling them between his fingers. As Castiel’s breath picked up, his chest heaving and the muscles in his abdomen tightening, he felt soap suds slide over his stomach and down his sides. When he pulled his head up and opened his eyes, he noticed Dean watching the display as well, his eyes dark under thick lashes.

Whether this was the best blow job ever given was something that they had yet to discover together, but the way Dean’s lips were stretched around the heavy flesh of Castiel’s penis made anything else hardly matter. Dean’s lips were swollen and red, and the sight alone had Castiel’s balls tighten up into his body, pushing a rush of arousal to a peak he wasn’t sure he could come down from. 

His hand reached down and slid through Dean’s soaking wet hair, and he cupped the back of his head, pulling his mouth down, pushing himself closer to the back of Dean’s throat. He saw Dean’s nostrils flare as he took in a deep breath, and felt his throat fluttering around the tip of Castiel’s cock. To his credit, even in his inexperience, Dean took it with grace after he gagged a little, saliva gathering on his tongue. He gathered himself, blinking reactive tears from his eyes and bobbed his head, taking the head of Castiel’s cock into his throat, over and over, tight and hot…

When Castiel felt his legs begin to shake, and hitched, shallow breaths began to escape his parted lips, Dean pulled away, gasping, his face red, and a string of saliva hanging off his lip, connecting him to Castiel’s weeping, pre-come-slick tip.

They both remained in their positions: Castiel laying back on the Impala, and Dean panting between his legs. 

One of Dean’s hands was pumping Castiel’s cock, his other hand out of sight, that arm flexing repeatedly. Castiel’s imagination ran wild with what manner of dirty things Dean could be doing to himself. The very thought of Dean jerking his palm over his own dick while sucking Castiel off was making it very hard not to come right there, and Castiel really wanted to make this last longer. While he knew only basic concepts about sex, he was certain orgasming early was not favourable.

Finding his voice, pulling it up from whatever recesses it had retreated to in his chest, Castiel croaked, “What now? What do we—”

“Take off your pants.”

Like a good soldier, Castiel slid off the Impala and worked efficiently on taking off his pants, using the time given to him by Dean, who stood up and walked over to the open door of the Impala, to kick off his boots. By the time Castiel had thrown aside his jeans and boxers, he felt very vulnerable, his cock out in the open, nothing covering his body but a soaked, haphazardly donned t-shirt. He was still soaking wet, dripping, and watching gobs of soap slide down his legs.

All feelings of vulnerability disappeared when Dean returned with a small foil packet and a small bottle.

“Always used to keep these in the car just in case,” Dean said, shrugging. His eyes glanced at Cas’ features and the tops of his cheeks coloured for some reason. “Haven’t really used ‘em the last few years… They’re still good, not expired or nothin’. I replaced ‘em every so—”

“Dean,” Castiel interrupted, “what are you talking about?”

“Condoms,” Dean blurted out, waving a small, golden-and-black foil packet. He glanced at the bottle, smiling. “And lube. We’re, uh, gonna need it.”

Lube, yes. Castiel knew about lube. Upon snooping in Sam’s toiletry bag under the bathroom sink one day, he’d discovered the “personal lubricant” and borrowed it. Of course, he’d never returned it and Sam hadn’t brought it up or tried looking for it…

“Protection.” Castiel nodded, pulling his eyes away from the foil.

“It ain’t an angel blade, but it’s just as important,” Dean said, his wet lips breaking into a grin. 

Castiel opened his mouth to ask about what an angel blade had to do with anal sex, but Dean moved into his space, working around the small noise Castiel made against his mouth in surprise. His wet skin, now cool, brushed Castiel’s face as their noses bumped and lips slid against each other. Dean’s tongue was warm, in contrast to his cool skin, and Castiel opened his mouth to welcome it. 

The Impala was cool against his backside as Dean walked him slowly back into it, and then cool against his back as Dean laid him back down. Castiel’s damp hair soaked up soapy water as he thumped his head back and inhaled, long and shaky, as Dean kissed down his neck, over his collar bone, and down his sternum. Dean’s hot tongue licked down his abdomen, in the soft dip between his abs and around his navel. 

Hot palms curled under his thighs and pushed them up and apart, exposing his bobbing, hard erection, his balls, and his ass. Dean stood up, his lips wet and shining, and stared down at Castiel’s naked body. 

“Fuck,” Dean said simply, pulling up a hand to run through his wet hair, pushing dark, ashy strands from his face. “Fuck.”

Without prompting, Dean dropped down to his knees, and all Castiel could see as he gazed down his body was the top of Dean’s head and his hooded green eyes, pupils blown out in arousal from between Cas’ legs.

Then Dean did something Castiel definitely hadn’t done with April. Dean’s hot mouth latched around the ring of muscle in between the swells of Castiel’s ass, and he licked. He licked and sucked and moaned, sending vibrations up through to the very tip of Castiel’s cock. The sensation was unlike anything the human angel had ever felt before, and before he knew it, he was up on his elbows, with one hand reaching down to cup the back of Dean’s head, urging him on as Dean’s tongue fucked his ass. It made circles and slid in, and Dean hummed when he’d drag the flat of his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves, causing Castiel to make noises he’d never admit to outside the walls of this garage. 

And when he felt the beginning twinge of an orgasm build at the base of his cock, pulling his balls up close to his body, Castiel reached down and began jerking his fist over the tip of his cock, sliding foreskin over the top few inches, pulling and tugging at his orgasm, guiding it up, up, up—

Dean pulled his mouth away and got to his feet, his mouth and chin wet. Hell, even his jaw and neck were wet, slick with spit. The very image of his swollen, pink mouth panting was dragging Castiel towards orgasm.

“Don’t come yet,” Dean ordered breathlessly before he brought the condom package up to his mouth, tore the top off with his teeth, and threw it aside after expertly rolling the small, circular, rubber contraption over his cock with one hand. With the other hand, he tapped his thumb atop the lube bottle and flipped it in his palm.

Lube poured from the bottle, even from a height like that and landed exactly where they both wanted. Dean and Castiel groaned as lubricant—warm from being held in Dean’s hand for as long as it took to tongue-fuck the ever-living-hell out of Castiel’s ass—waterfalled over their cocks and dribbled down over Castiel’s asshole. Dean’s fingers joined in, smearing it generously. 

“You good?” Dean asked.

Castiel nodded. Quickly, but he nodded. “I’m good.”

“C’mere,” Dean murmured, reaching a hand out. Castiel took it and was pulled up into a seated position, ass on the edge of the car hood, legs spread. He was held close, Dean’s arm coming up around his shoulders. 

Two fingers, slick with lube, pushed into him and Castiel made a noise of surprise in his throat that Dean swallowed with a kiss. 

As the fingers fucked him slowly, pushing in a few inches and dragging back out with a subtle curve of Dean’s fingers, Castiel’s eyes slid shut and he leaned his head to the side, grunting as Dean kissed his neck and shoulders. 

“You’ve done this before,” Castiel murmured.

“Not with you,” Dean replied into his skin.

Between his legs, Dean slid in a third finger, propping his thumb against the skin of Castiel’s sensitive perineum. A pulsing started at the base of Castiel’s cock, seeming to circuit back towards the swollen, sweet spot that Dean brushed with his fingers. 

“I’ve waited a really long time,” Dean spoke into the damp skin stretched over Castiel’s exposed collarbone. 

Castiel lifted his head and turned his face against Dean’s, nuzzling it. “Don’t wait any longer, then.”

Without preamble, Dean wrapped his forearm under Castiel’s thigh, fingers grabbing his hips, and held him close with the other arm. Castiel, understanding now what he could do to help, reached down between them and guided Dean’s penis to where they both wanted it to go.

They stared at each other, water and sweat tumbling down the sides of their faces, as Dean pushed in, the head of his cock sliding into the wanting asshole. They both hissed—Dean in pleasure and Castiel in slight discomfort—before Dean slowed, pushing in every so often, slowly, inch-by-inch.

“Holy shit,” Dean choked out against Castiel’s cheek, their foreheads pressed together. “This is it, isn’t it?”

Castiel answered him by tilting his head and capturing his lips. 

The car, as the minutes went by, began creaking on her wheels. Baby bounced as Dean fucked Castiel with more vigour, and Cas wrapped his arms around Dean’s shoulders, helping. They fucked each other, breath mingling as they kissed, and marks were left on their skin as they nibbled and sucked.

Castiel found, as Dean thrust into him and held his legs open, that he could participate, too. He learned that Dean liked to have his back touched and he liked it when Castiel touched his nipples. Green eyes rolled a bit every time he dragged his thumb over the hard buds or his fingernails left red trails across his back. 

“Again,” Dean grunted, his fingers tightening around Castiel’s ass, and his fist twisted around the sensitive, slick head of Castiel’s dick. 

Castiel pinched the dusty, hard nipples, and the clapping of their skin quickened. The push of Dean’s thick cock drilling in and out of Castiel brought them both closer to release. The orgasm in Castiel built like he remembered his grace once did—small, but pulsing into something bigger until it swelled in an explosive heat.

It came without time for warning, and Castiel inhaled sharply as he orgasmed, hot, thick come shooting from his cock, pumping over Dean’s fingers and dripping down his knuckles. He felt like an angel again for a few brief moments, as that heat spread through his limbs, pleasure following it, and leaving him shaking.

“Right behind you,” Dean panted into his neck, pulling Cas close, stroking the back of his head as Cas leaned forward and buried his face in Dean’s shoulders, feeling like he was melting. “Where do you want me to come?”

“Exactly where you are,” Castiel breathed, nuzzling his face into the soft patch of skin where Dean’s neck met his shoulder.

Inside him, he felt Dean’s cock pulse like a heartbeat, then Dean’s muscles tightened under his face. The thrusts turned shallow and Dean’s fingernails dug into Castiel’s back.

As Dean came, making small noises of pleasure, Castiel pulled his head up and cupped Dean’s face in his palms, bringing their lips together again. He kissed him through his orgasm, gently dragging his thumb over his jaw and pushing damp hair from his forehead. 

When Dean’s thrusts came to a stop and he began to soften, they broke apart and then…

“You’re so hot,” Dean whispered, grinning.

Smiling back, Castiel shrugged and asked, “Did I do it right?”

“As far as I could tell,” Dean replied, laughing so his shoulders shook under Castiel’s arms, “you did great. Kinda wondering what else you’re really great at?”

Butterflies came to life in his stomach, and Castiel swallowed hard in an attempt to calm them. “So you...wish to do that again?”

Dean groaned. “Dude, yes. This has been...just _so, so_ hot. I can cross that off my list.”

“Cross _what_ off your list?” Castiel asked slowly, tilting his head. “Having sex with _me_ , or having sex on your car?”

His eyes softening, Dean murmured, “Sex on my car, Cas, ‘cause having sex with you is isn’t a list thing. It’s a...” He shrugged. “It’s more than just a fantasy. It means more than that.”

The butterflies went wild. “I see.”

They stared at each other, then Dean bumped his nose to Castiel’s and teased, “Way to make this a real chick-flick moment, Cas. But yeah, to answer your initial question, I’d like to do this again.”

“Today?” Castiel asked, perking up.

Dean snorted. “Right now, if you want. I’m feeling...inspired.”

“Perhaps on a bed now?” Castiel asked, looking over his shoulder at the soapy car. He turned back to Dean, raising an eyebrow. “Or is the car wash fantasy a long-term affair?”

Reaching up to butt the cleft of Castiel’s chin with his knuckle, Dean shook his head, his eyes glittering fondly. “It’s definitely a favourite of mine. But hey, there’s a whole list of porno settings we could try out. You got a favourite?”

Castiel watched Dean’s flushed face and took in the way he dragged his teeth over his bottom lip in an attempt not to smile too widely, and drank in the happy twinkle in his eye.

“Yes,” Castiel nodded. In his stomach, butterflies soared, and in his chest blossomed a spark of excitement.

“Oh, yeah?”

“If Sam won’t be home for a while,” Castiel replied happily, “I’m quite partial to the pizza man.”

“Well,” Dean laughed heartily, lifting Castiel up and holding him close as he carried him across the garage, “hope you’re hungry, Cas, ‘cause Sam won’t be home for a few hours, and I heard there’s a big, spicy, sausage pizza waiting for you upstairs.”

Castiel bit his lip to stop from smiling. “In that case, I am _starved_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave me a comment! :) I'll love you forever.
> 
> EDIT: GUYS. Sarasaurussex made gift art for me for the PB Server's Birthday Bash and it's so beautiful. OMG. Please go to their Tumblr and leave all the nicest comments and appreciation. https://sarasaurussex.tumblr.com/post/190415059258/destiel-fic-art


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